


Error

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Blood, Death, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, Minor Character Death, No Plot/Plotless, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:03:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5764129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s strange, Hibari thinks with odd clarity as Dino crashes into him to knock him aside, to identify a mistake while it’s still occurring." Even Hibari makes mistakes sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Error

**Author's Note:**

  * For [valkrie-baal](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=valkrie-baal).



Hibari rarely makes mistakes.

He’d like to claim _never_. But the adverb implies a perfection long since rendered impossible courtesy of Rokudo Mukuro and the alcoholic doctor’s meddling, and Hibari has found himself in error since then too, if with such infrequency he suspects no one but himself would recall the instances. But of course he recalls, even if the memories of those around him are too short-lived to call up the instances, even if one Dino Cavallone likes to insist upon Hibari’s perfection at every available opportunity, and though Hibari doesn’t care to publicize these past-tense missteps he recalls them with absolute clarity, uses them to build himself a wall of recollection to ensure he will never repeat his flawed actions again.

It’s strange, he thinks with odd clarity as Dino crashes into him to knock him aside, to identify a mistake while it’s still occurring.

It’s the advantage of the adrenaline. Hibari can feel the surge of it coursing through his veins like mercury, as fluid and dynamic as the rhythm of his movements, as elegant as the dance of combat that is too constant in its change to allow for actions learned by rote. The only way to excel is to take control of the rhythm yourself, to own the actions instead of letting them own you, and Hibari has had control of this room since he walked through the door, has been drawing the enemies around him into combat at the rate he determines, with the pattern he sets. There’s no thought to it; the actions he takes are as easy as breathing, the habit of muscle memory guiding him while his mind hums with the purring satisfaction of physical exertion, while his lips curl on the vicious smile of victory. There is no option of surrender for his opponents, no risk of danger to him; Hibari knows he can crush his enemies where they stand, can break through their meager resistance as easily as if it didn’t exist at all. He’s not thinking about the action in the rest of the building, not paying any attention to the sounds and shouts from the other room; there are enough of Sawada Tsunayoshi’s followers there to account for the combatants themselves, even allowing for their much lesser effectiveness in comparison with Hibari himself. Hibari’s focus is on this room, on this enemy, and then the one before him falls and there’s only one left, a man with a knife in his hands and the whites of his eyes showing his terror before Hibari has even looked at him. He takes a step back, another; Hibari doesn’t let the other’s panic speed his own pace but instead holds to his own steady stride, covering the floor in easy steps while his opponent stumbles backwards and nearly falls over an overturned chair behind him. The other man looks down at the obstacle, whimpering terror, then back to Hibari for a moment; then he pivots, finally giving up the surrender of his back as he bolts for the other room. He’s gone in a moment, ducked around the barrier of the door, but Hibari just keeps coming, trailing his prey without any hesitation for the loss of his line of sight. A smack of his tonfa shoves the door open, offers the chaos of the other room for his consideration, but he doesn’t give it more than a cursory glance; his target is halfway across the space, drawing the eye with his panicked flight, and Hibari makes for him without pausing, without sparing a glance for the rest of the combatants.

It’s then that the yell comes: “ _Kyoya_ ,” high and desperate with a tracery of panic that drags the distraction of electricity down Hibari’s spine and tenses his shoulders into the expectation of turning before he’s even decided to do so. It’s then he knows that he’s made a mistake, as his body is twisting into the involuntary reaction strong enough to override even his focus on combat, and it’s as Dino’s weight slams into him that time goes slow and syrupy. Hibari’s feet fall out from under him, the combined force of Dino’s motion and his own weight dropping him towards what is sure to be a brutally heavy landing, but before they hit there’s a _bang_ so loud that Hibari’s hearing goes numb for a moment. The sound of combat vanishes to the ringing in his ears, the shrill whine of pain overrides his senses, and Dino jerks, flinching into an involuntary reaction that Hibari notes with strange clarity in the breath of time before they land. Then there’s the floor at his back, gravity slamming all the air out of his lungs, and Dino lands on top of him, the crush of his weight finishing the job Hibari’s landing started. For a moment Hibari’s thoughts are blank, his focus blown astray by the impact of his fall as easily as his tonfas were knocked from his grip; then Dino shifts, his hand tightening at Hibari’s shoulder, and coughs wet against the other’s cheek. There’s surprising heat, liquid catching against Hibari’s skin, and then Dino slides sideways to the floor, and Hibari sees how red his lips are, and realizes it’s blood caught sticky at his cheek.

Hibari pushes himself upright. His vision slants, twists dizzily around him, but he doesn’t let himself wobble, doesn’t let his unsteadiness show on his face. Dino is blinking rapidly at the ceiling, his mouth open and forehead creased; as Hibari looks over at him he sees the other raise a hand to press shaking fingers against his side, where crimson is oozing dark to stain the torn edges of his white shirt.

“What are you doing?” Hibari says, feeling his throat hum into the dangerous tone he intends even though he can’t hear the words past the bright ache in his ears. Dino doesn’t react, either to speak or to look at him; he’s still gazing at the ceiling, the crease in his forehead deepening as his mouth trembles into a grimace, as his hand presses harder at his side.

Hibari frowns. “Hey.” No response, even though the ringing in his ears -- from a gunshot, he realizes now, as his thoughts reform -- is fading. “ _Hey_.” Dino’s breathing harder, his mouth open like he can’t get enough air, and he’s still not looking at Hibari. “ _Dino Cavallone_.”

Dino startles at the sound of his name, head snapping around like he’s only just realized Hibari’s speaking to him. “Kyoya?” His eyes are wide, his gaze bright; for a moment he just stares at the other, his forehead still creased with pain. Then he swallows, his mouth curves into a smile, and an odd tension twists harder into Hibari’s chest, as if the air in the room has gone thick. “You’re okay.”

“You interrupted me,” Hibari tells him without looking up at the room to track down his prey. The man is likely well past the point of pursuit by now; he’ll have to be found later. “I’ll bite you to death for that.”

Dino blinks slow, his lashes weighted with a softness that always does something odd to Hibari’s breathing, that always feels more like a punch than those that actually land. “Yeah,” he says, sounding completely unconcerned. “Okay.” His gaze slides away from Hibari’s eyes, his focus drifting like it’s become detached from its reference point; it lands at the other’s cheek, Dino’s mouth tensing out of its hazy smile as he stares. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s yours,” Hibari says, even and calm and perfectly honest, unruffled, unaffected by the cooling warmth of Dino’s blood on his skin. He glances away from Dino’s face, down to where the other’s fingers are spread wide over the rapidly spreading stain at his shirt. “You were shot.”

Dino laughs, a strange burst of noise that sounds wrong, that goes wet and hacking at the end instead of radiant with the sunshine-bright Hibari is used to hearing from him. “Yeah,” he says, and turns his head to the side to spit blood onto the floor. “You didn’t see him aiming at you.”

“I would have,” Hibari declares. It’s only not chastising because it lacks the emotion such a statement would require, and he’s perfectly calm, but the tone is similar, the feel of dealing with an idiot unfortunately familiar. “I wouldn’t let an herbivore like that shoot me.”

“Right,” Dino says, and shuts his eyes, takes a dragging breath. His smile is still clinging to the corner of his mouth, but it trembles with the force of his inhale. “I should have known.”

There’s the sound of footsteps, an approach made into a run by its hurry; Hibari can hear the concern in the pace of the other’s breathing, doesn’t look up to see Romario falling to his knees on Dino’s other side. “ _Boss_.” Hibari can hear the panic in his voice, confirmation of what he knows already, but Dino’s eyes come open, his smile faltering for a moment of fright as he sees whatever is in Romario’s face. For a breath his eyes are dark, his expression falling back into that of a frightened child in the first moment of awareness; then he shuts his eyes, and gasps a breath, and by the time he opens them he’s the Cavallone boss again, responsibility steadying him into a smile the more sincere for how much of a strain it is.

“Romario,” he says, and lifts his hand from his side, reaches for the other man’s hand. Romario catches it in both of his without concern for the color staining it, without consideration for the way his sleeves catch to red on contact; Hibari can hear the choking effort of the older man’s breathing, can hear the threat of emotion undermining any stability in his voice. Dino coughs, goes on speaking: “I’m so sorry, Romario.”

“Boss,” Romario chokes out, but then tears stop his voice and cut him off into silence. Dino tightens his hold on the other’s hand like he’s bracing himself; then he turns his head and forces himself into focus on Hibari’s face. His fingers catch the other’s wrist, trace up to tangle with his hand; Hibari closes his fingers around Dino’s, frames his hold into a delicate cage instead of the combat-tight grip he’s been maintaining on his tonfas.

“Kyoya,” Dino says, his forehead creasing into intensity and his voice cracking. “You know...”

Hibari can feel Dino’s fingers seize tight on his hand, can feel them press hard against his palm. “Dino Cavallone,” he says, enunciating every word with the care the foreign syllables require. “If you die I will bite you to death.”

Dino’s face twists hard, his eyes going wide as if with laughter while his mouth contorts into pain. “Kyoya,” he says, and it’s supposed to be a laugh but it sounds like a sob, the sound shaking too badly to pass for even hysterical amusement. “I love you so much.” Then his lashes shut, his breathing hitches hard in his chest, and Romario makes an awful sound as he tries to hold back the flood of tears Hibari can see clear in the white knuckles of the hold he has on Dino’s fingers. Dino’s grip tightens, crushing against Hibari’s fingers and Romario’s alike; then there’s a shudder, a tremor that rushes through his whole body, and a cough, a straining attempt at air that Hibari knows will fail before it’s made. There’s pain, pressure seizing on Hibari’s hand as if Dino is trying to crush his fingers out of existence; and then release, tension falling slack as Dino’s head falls to the side, as his mouth comes open on the last of the air escaping his lungs.

Hibari lets Dino’s hand fall. His palm is warm with the friction of the other’s touch; he can still feel his fingers aching as he braces his hand on the floor to push himself to his feet. Romario is starting to cry, gasping through the wracking full-body sobs of a father over the body of a lost son, but Hibari doesn’t look at him; he’s reaching for his tonfas instead, replacing the fading heat of Dino’s touch with the cool pressure of the metal against his skin. There are others in the room, turning to look at Romario, turning to look at Hibari, but Hibari doesn’t meet their eyes; they’re as unimportant now as they ever were. He leaves them behind when he exits the room, when he steps through the door that last granted admission to his prey.

He catches them rapidly. There’s no advantage to a gun when Hibari knows it’s there, nothing they can do when he comes for them but stare and scream. The impact of his tonfa hitting bone is less satisfying than it usually is; he hits again, and again, seeking out the relief of adrenaline that refuses to come to his call as it always has before. By the time Kusakabe touches his shoulder to pull him back to reality Hibari’s hands are covered in blood and his enemies have gone well past the point of ever moving again; it’s still hard to stop the methodical swing of his arms, strange to feel the way his shoulders ache when he stops moving, as if he were hitting with anything like enough strength to satisfy the emptiness spreading out against the inside of his chest.

He won’t make this mistake again.


End file.
